John and Delenn in Raising David
by NWHS
Summary: Travel with John Sheridan as he recounts a few of the memorable moments in the life of his son, David, as he and Delenn learn what it means to be parents.
1. Chapter 1: Four Months of Age

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Delenn of Mir and John Sheridan**

**Author: NWHS**

_**Raising David**_

**Chapter 1: 4 Months of Age**

One can liken it to the sound of fifty exploding bombs, one hundred fingernails scratching a chalkboard, thirty pounds of shattering glass, or the howl of a pack of hungry hyenas on the hunt. But nothing, _nothing_ in the whole universe compares to the screeching cries of a four-month old baby.

"Good God, Delenn, I'll not survive another night like this," John Sheridan yelled, covering his head with his pillow.

His son's cries reverberated through the bedchamber, a siren bellowing in the midnight air alerting all to its emergency state.

Angry, Sheridan threw off the covers and almost fell out of bed, his body weak from lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. Catching himself on the edge of the bed, he stood fully, turned on the lamp on his nightstand, and peered across the room, red eyes catching a familiar form in the moonlight.

"God, honey, you look as bad as I feel," Sheridan said, taking in the disheveled appearance of his wife.

"He won't stop crying, John, and I don't know why," Delenn said, her voice pitched abnormally high. "I fed him, changed him, sang to him, patted his back, rubbed his tummy, rocked him, talked to him—_twice_—and nothing works."

Delenn ran a trembling hand through her tousled hair and looked down at the child whose legs and arms were flailing about, tongue protruding from his mouth, and eyes full of tears. "Something must be wrong with him. Perhaps it was something I ate when I was pregnant, John, perhaps I was poisoned and it only affected David."

"Delenn, you know you weren't poisoned," he said, walking across the bedroom and to his wife. Sheridan also looked upon their child who, God help him, reminded John of a little devil sans the red skin and tail. "You're just tired, as am I, and David probably is as well."

Delenn reached into the crib and picked up her out-of-control child, and handed him to his father. "John, I had no idea Human babies could be so fussy and unruly."

Sheridan snorted and lifted his son to his shoulder, wincing when the sound of unrelenting crying echoed loudly in his right ear. "Why is it, Delenn, whenever David throws a temper tantrum, cries like a banshee, or refuses to go to sleep, he's 'my child,' or a 'Human baby,' but when he plays the perfect infant he suddenly becomes a 'child of Valen?'"

Delenn gave her husband a glare that would have melted most men, but John Sheridan was too tired, too irritated . . . just too everything to be cowed. In fact, they both were, having relegated most things in their lives to David, including sleeping and eating, even intimacy, the slightest thought of which quickly faded when little David started with the water works or refused to go to sleep anywhere but in his parents' bed.

"I need to meditate, John, and I haven't been able to do so in weeks. I can't go on like this. No one warned me babies could be so . . . so . . . like this," she finished in exasperation, pointing to the child who seemed to have an endless supply of tears and the roar of a mountain lion. "He's never pleased and, _yes_, I think it's because of his Human DNA. He's so much like you, can't stay still or quiet for a moment. And while that character trait serves you well as an adult, and is one of the things I love most about you, it is intolerable in a child who has no outlet for his energy other than disturbing the universe with his constant weeping."

Sheridan looked at his wife, really looked at her, realizing how much her life had changed over the last few years. She wasn't Human, in spite of her appearance. Intellectually Sheridan knew this to be the case, but she got along well with Humans, spoke English flawlessly, and adapted so well to change that Sheridan often forgot how hard she had to work to mesh all the different cultures that lived in and around her.

And whether Sheridan wanted to admit it or not, she was probably right about David, for he'd seen Minbari parents at the park with their children and none of the children his age acted like his son. To John, David was just being a baby . . . a normal _Human_ baby. And as much as the constant whining and crying got to him, he really had no clue as to how such behavior was affecting a woman who could sit hours by herself and not feel alone or lonely but who now had not a moment's silence in her life.

Delenn needed silence. She needed time to herself, to think, to be alone without the demands of motherhood, and yes, without the demands of having an overactive, impatient husband underfoot.

Sheridan groped around in David's crib until he found the elusive pacifier and placed it in the child's whimpering mouth, silencing him. It was temporary, as everything was with David, but it was enough for now.

"Why don't you get dressed, Delenn, and go to Temple. I'll call for one of the house guards to escort you."

"It's the middle of the night, John."

"You say that like it's 7-11 and closes after midnight."

"Seven . . . what, John?" she questioned and shook her head. "Never mind, I'm really not in the mood to learn another Human saying. I think I've exhausted my thesaurus for one lifetime."

Sheridan gave his wife a thoughtful look. She was out of sorts, definitely not herself. He closed the short distance between them and kissed her forehead like he often did David. "I mean the Temple never closes. You need to get out of this house and recharge your batteries, Delenn, you're running on empty and giving off fumes."

"Is that your tactless way of saying I'm being grumpy, a grouch?"

_Tread softly, John, don't let the small stature and soft voice fool you._

"I just mean that you're tired and need a break from me and the baby. Go to Temple," he said, grabbing her hand and walking her towards her closet, "and meditate in peace. We'll be here when you get back."

"I can't just leave you here when he's like this, John," Delenn protested.

"You can and you will. Everyone needs a break, honey, and I have mine everyday when I go to work." And it was true, this was the small solace that kept John Sheridan, the new father, sane. But Delenn had yet to return to work full-time, having her reports brought to her and scheduling meetings at their home. She wasn't quite ready to leave David with a nanny, but that decision was clearly taking its toll. Delenn needed to find a balance, and if she wasn't able to find it for herself, then John would just have to help her, whether she wanted the help or not.

"Jooohn." This was the closest Delenn ever came to a whine and Sheridan always recognized it for what it was—a very weak defense and ultimate concession.

"I'll walk David around the house awhile and you get dressed, Delenn. I mean it," he said at her reluctant expression.

Her small huff and roll of the eyes were her final concessions. He'd won. Won? Being left to defend oneself against a colicky baby could never be considered a win. David didn't really have colic, Sheridan had to remind himself on a daily basis, but it would have been convenient to have a nice, simple medical excuse for why his son cried so much and so loudly. Then again, Sheridan reasoned, his wife would have probably blamed that on the child's Human DNA as well because apparently, Sheridan learned from the pediatrician, Minbari babies don't get colic.

_Damn, perfectly quiet Minbari babies with their tiny, short-lived wails. Those aren't real babies. Real babies let it loose, show their character, don' take stuff from the guy in the next crib. No wonder Delenn's ears can't bear the sound, Minbari are too damn perfectly quiet and boring. _John laughed then._ Hell, who am I fooling? I can't bear it either and neither could most Human women._

Sheridan moved his son from his shoulder to cradle him in the crook of his arm, thankful the pacifier was holding its own. "You're gonna have to let your mother get some rest, young man, or the two of us are gonna have it to have a little talk. She was my wife before she became your mother and I'd like her back—sane please."

"Okay, John, I'm ready to go," Delenn said upon entering the living room. "Are you sure about this? I can—''

"I'm positive, honey. You need this and I can do more to pull my weight, especially in the evenings. Besides it'll give us some time to start that father-son bonding."

Not giving Delenn an opportunity to think of an excuse not to leave, John quickly buzzed for a guard. Within a minute, a knock was heard at the front door. ""That will be for you, Delenn. Go to Temple, meditate, pray, and don't worry about us."

"But—''

Sheridan gave her a gentle kiss to the cheek. "Take time for yourself, honey, you need it. You can't go on without rejuvenating your mind, body, and soul. And prayer and meditation for you is like sunlight to plants, essential for a healthy, long life. Now go," he said, playfully swatting her on her bottom and shooing her out the door.

"Now," Sheridan said, staring down at his son, "how about that talk."

Three hours later, Delenn entered her bedchamber, beating the sun home before it welcomed the new day with its refreshing rays of warmth and hope. She cautiously walked to David's crib, finding him asleep surrounded by stuffed animals, baby rings and mirrors, two empty bottles of breast milk, and three pacifiers attached to his nightshirt, one of which was actually in his mouth.

She quietly undressed and joined her husband in bed. She fit her small body in _her spot_, the one between John's left shoulder and thigh, allowing them to spoon as they slept.

"How was Temple?" a sleepy voice asked.

"Refreshing."

"Good. I'll be home today by six and I expect you out the door by six thirty."

Delenn started to turn in his arms but he held her fast, pulling her even closer to him. "I know you love David, Delenn, and you're a wonderful mother, don't ever doubt that. But you're still Delenn of Mir, the person, the woman, don't ever forget that. Being a wife and mother are simply two more titles to add to the ones you've accumulated over the years, and while each changes you in some way, you can't forget your essence."

"You think I've forgotten my essence?"

"I think you're a new mother and I'm a new father and we have to both get used to the new clothes we wear."

"I know that metaphor, John."

"Good, because I thought you were going to remind me that your thesaurus was full."

They laughed.

"Anyway, honey, I think our new clothes are too big for us right now and damn uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel like a dwarf in them. But eventually, the longer I wear them, the more I'll grow and they'll fit me better and better. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Delenn?"

"That you need a better tailor."

"Humor? So, the Temple did help."

"Yes, John, and so are you in your special Human way. Only a Human would think of comparing parenthood to clothing." She paused thoughtfully then asked, "Will the clothes ever fit perfectly, John, the way clothes should."

"No, honey, because the clothes and the wearer are constantly changing, growing. But the fit will getter better and won't chafe as much."

Delenn thought about the metaphor for quite some time before she spoke again. "So, the crying David is like uncomfortably big, itchy clothing that have replaced my predictably soft, tailor-made silk robes."

"Yes."

"And I will grow into them with time, experience, and patience."

"Yes."

"But I mustn't lose myself in the process because my personhood is just as important as motherhood."

"Yes."

Delenn thought again, and then said, "And I thought I was the one who went to Temple and gained wisdom."

Sheridan gave a soft laugh, not wanting to wake the devil. "Delenn, sweetheart, I've only said to you what you've told me time and time again."

"I'm pretty sure I've never used a clothing analogy to make a point."

"Well . . . umm, no, that would be all me. But we've talked about transitions in life and the spiritual nature of them. You're the best philosophy teacher I've ever had."

"You once told me you hated college philosophy."

"True, but you weren't my teacher."

"Flattery too, John, what is a Minbari to do?"

"Go to sleep and let her Human husband take care of her for a change."

"Sleep sounds like an excellent idea, but what about David?"

"You just let me handle that. I had a little talk with our son."

"You did?" she asked, her voice slipping, body relaxing into his half embrace.

"I did and I laid down the law to him."

"The law?" Another two-word question, she was fading fast.

"Yes, honey, I'll tell you all about it later. Now, go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake."

No more questions, not even two-word ones followed. Silence. Yes, silence in the Sheridan household. A miracle? The sun rose, illuminating the new day with new hope and new possibilities. Perhaps it wasn't a miracle after all but the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2: Six Years of Age

**Chapter 2: Six Years of Age**

**Part 1**

Six weeks. John Sheridan had been away from Minbar, away from home for almost two months. His annual visit to Earth had taken longer than anticipated, his parents inviting Liz and her family to the farm. It was nice seeing his sister, nephews, and brother-in-law. Admittedly, everyone was disappointed when he arrived alone.

"Where's the family?" seemed to be the recurring question during his visit from friends, family, and nosey neighbors who wanted nothing more than to get a glimpse of his 'half-breed child and hybrid wife.'

His patent answer, "Didn't want to pull David out of school. You know how strict Religious Caste teachers can be." Although, no one really did know, but they all invariably smiled, nodded, and accepted the response at face value.

In truth, David didn't want to visit Earth, having heard from a classmate that the planet was inhabited by monsters and ghouls. After learning of the trip, David started having nightmares, screaming himself awake, drenched in sweat and tears. Not even Delenn's soothing rocking and gentle whispers could assuage his fear of the pending trip. Alas, Delenn and John decided it would be best to try again the following year.

John was disappointed, waving to his family as he boarded White Star 14, thinking he didn't have too many more of these trips left in him. He wanted, no needed his son to see Earth, to know and feel the blue planet under his innocent toes, to look into the gray and white hypnotic sky and see what John had seen, what made him join Earthforce and travel beyond the borders of the mind.

But he was alone. For all the family surrounding him on the farm, the place that sparked the embers of the flame he would burn into, he felt alone, lonely, aching for the other half of his soul.

He would speak to David upon his return, help him work through his nightmares and do a better job sharing his human heritage with his son. David lived and breathed Minbar. In all respects, he was as much a Minbari child as any with full bonecrests.

He was immersed in Minbari culture and knew very little of Earth customs. Thankfully, he was fluent in English, Delenn supporting John's decision to teach him both of their languages simultaneously. In reality, it just wouldn't do if David's primary language was only English. And the Minbari educational system was ill prepared to deal with children who came to them speaking a language other than Adronato. Although, John remembered thinking at the time, most Minbari were multilinguistic but their pride and arrogance prevented them from instructing their children in a language other than their own.

So, the hours, days, and weeks slipped by, time moving as it does, languidly or speedily, depending on one's perspective and place in the universe. When John was at home, on Minbar, he yearned for the old familiarity of the Sheridan farm. Yet when he awoke to the sizzle of bacon and eggs and felt the heat of another long summer's day on a neck already glistening with perspiration, his mind couldn't help seeking the cool, crystals of Tuzanor and the reassuringly calm voice telling him to sleep and all would be well. Such was the fickled mind, never satisfied, always wanting.

But John Sheridan was home now. Yes, for all his dreams of the rolling hills and cresting waves of Earth, Minbar was home. Rather, wherever Delenn and David were was home.

Sheridan nodded to the door guard after receiving a brief security report and slinked quietly into the house. It was a little after 12 a.m., the house dark except a glow coming from the living room. Sheridan went to inspect the source of the glow, assuming Delenn had left a nightlight on for David who'd taken to late night trips to the kitchen for water. Considering there was a bathroom next to his room, Sheridan didn't understand his need to walk so far just for a drink. Neither had Delenn, but the nightlight prevented stubbed toes and bruised knees when those annoying pieces of furniture moved right when one was walking past them.

Sheridan smiled when he rounded the corner and entered the living room. Indeed, a dim light flickered in the corner of the room, providing minimal illumination. But it was enough, for beside the light on the long, plush couch, lay his wife, Delenn. She was in a state of deep sleep, her head propped against the arm of the couch, three folders resting neatly on her chest.

She wore his blue terrycloth robe, her short, beautifully crème legs and feet poking out, matching the earth tone colors of the room, blending in but not fading into it. No, she was far too lovely for that.

Sheridan strolled to her, reached down, and picked up the folders. He recognized the symbol on the cover, noting them as Ranger reports for her eyes only. Even the president of the Interstellar Alliance didn't read reports addressed to the Entil'zha without her permission.

Sheridan placed the folders on a nearby table before leaning over and kissing his wife. It was a barely-there kiss to the forehead, one not meant to wake her. But she smelled sweet, like honey and heather mixed in an exotic scent that was uniquely Delenn. John had to help himself to another, his lips grazing from her forehead to her nose, and then her lips.

He knew he should allow her to sleep. Unless exhausted, Delenn was a light sleeper, awaking at the slightest whimpers and cries coming from David's room. Perhaps, it was just the attuned mother in her, but John could tell from the cadence of her breathing that she had been sleep for quite awhile. And from the hush in the rest of the house, so had David.

But John couldn't stop, her sleeping form drawing him in like the handsome prince to the enchantingly delightful _Sleeping Beauty_. His soft, wet lips touched hers, pressing gently, holding, waiting. Sheridan drew his right hand to lift her chin, moving his tongue ever so teasingly across her lips before pressing in again, more firmly this time.

Finally, she sighed and parted her mouth. Delenn's arms crept up his side and around his waist, pulling him atop her. Sheridan went willingly, propping most of his weight on his right elbow, while the left side of him eagerly met his wife's body. And they kissed, John enjoying the texture of Delenn's tongue in his mouth and his in hers, and the mutual exchange of light touches.

"I didn't expect you for two more days," Delenn managed between heated kisses.

"I missed you and David. Six weeks is a long time to be away, honey," he said, speaking the words against her neck before moving lower. Sheridan slid two fingers in the knot holding the oversized robe together and pulled. It came apart as easily as his own resolve had the moment he laid eyes on her peacefully sleeping form.

Large, hungry hands met soft, willing flesh and the gentle touches and teasing kisses turned serious and demanding.

"John," Delenn said, an arousing melody to his ears, her voice briskly stolen when a gasp of pleasure jolted through her, dulling her thoughts to anything other than the man with wickedly pleasing fingers.

"We should . . . we really should . . . oh, John, this isn't the proper place. The bedroom . . . David might . . ."

Those damnably wicked fingers of his again. John wouldn't be dissuaded. Six weeks. Six weeks, he kept telling himself and then his wife, every time he slipped his fingers inside of her, stretching, massaging, probing with tender delicacy, making her cry out in blissful agony.

"I want you now, honey, on this sofa, and under the waning scrutiny of the nightlight. I want to touch and taste your sweetness, lather you with my heat in places only I've ever been, and when you twist your hands in my hair, begging for release, I'll give it to you, holding your jerking hips, grasping that throbbing, erect bud, and making it sing for us both."

Sheridan had never spoken such sensual words to his wife before and damn if he didn't want to say more, much, much more. But his mouth, or rather tongue, was otherwise preoccupied. And just as Sheridan predicted, within moments, Delenn's hand went to his head, gently guiding her husband where she most needed him. He obliged, as always, then reached up in search of one of her perfectly formed breasts, twirling the nipple between his fingers.

"Oh, John," Delenn cried out, nearing her peak, back boughed, legs quivering and wide. "Oh, John, don't stop, please don't stop." The last part of her sentence got louder and more incoherent the faster and harder he sucked and licked until all that John could make out was 'stop.' But he knew what she meant, what she wanted.

Sheridan reached between the couch and his body and undid his belt, button, and zipper. Mouth still doing its magic, Sheridan just managed to kneel slightly, and pull his pants down far enough to release himself.

Delenn yelled out again, sounding like a guttural protest but meaning anything but. Her thin fingers gripped the couch and the beginnings of a seismic quake started at the fault line that was her husband's mouth. Sheridan reared up on his knees and plunged into the abyss, tracking the quake with his special seismograph, finally feeling at home, at peace.

Smack. Smack. Smack. "What the hell?" Smack. Smack. Smack.

"She said stop, damn you. Leave my mommy alone, you big bully." Smack. Smack. Smack.

John and Delenn fell off the couch, John covering a near naked Delenn while trying to push a hard, wet, unhappy penis in his pants. "Ow, God damn it," Sheridan swore, catching more than his boxers in his zipper. "God damn it," he swore again as the assault continued.

"Stop it, David, it's me, Dad. It's me, David, it's me," John yelled, turning to catch the source of his burning back pain. The wiffle ball bat was coming towards his head like a guillotine. It struck him atop the head, David unable to reconcile the familiar commanding voice with the dark figure before him.

"Dad? Is that you, Daddy?" David asked, taking three cautious steps forward and squinting. "It is you," he said with a child's relief then slumped to the floor in tears. "I thought someone was trying to hurt, Mommy. I didn't know what to do. Then I remembered you telling me that while you were away, I was the man of the house, and I had to protect Mommy."

Whatever anger or embarrassment John may have felt about being interrupted and beaten by a six-year old, evaporated the moment his son spoke those chillingly painful and courageous words. He had indeed told him that, something his father always told him whenever he left on diplomatic missions. It was just one of those things men told their sons to make them feel better about themselves and about their father leaving them alone. No child could truly be the 'man of the house,' but it was more a state of mind that a fact of life. But his son had taken it to heart like the biblical David. Instead of running for a Ranger, David had taken up his slingshot and stone and went after the big, bad Goliath.

Sheridan scooped his son into his arms and nearly crushed the child with the weight of his hug. "You're a very good boy, David, you make me so proud to be your Dad." It was true, and for the first time since marrying Delenn, John Sheridan felt a modicum of peace about leaving her so soon. He worried and feared for her once he passed beyond the rim, not sure how his death would leave her. She was strong, for sure, but when it came to him, she was . . . well, a woman who loved her husband dearly. But now there was David, David who would fight a beast to protect his mother, to protect his home.

He would be the man of the house in fourteen years, and John now knew Delenn would be in safe hands. And to his surprise, the realization soothed a part of him that had been ragged and bleeding, and coated in guilt.

John cradled his son in his arms and looked over his shoulder at Delenn. His robe was haphazardly secured and her mortified features told him that sex would be relegated to the bedroom from here on out.

**Part 2**

Almost another two months had passed without incident, save the occasional nightmare and long walk for water through the living room. Yes, the _infamous_ living room as Sheridan now referred to it. Or rather, the infamous couch, which Sheridan was still hoping to convince his suddenly prudish wife to finish what they started. Her response. "Not in this lifetime, John, nor the next." Hell, it had taken two cups of tea, meditation, a locked bedroom door, and smooth talking just to get him back to second base. And if Sheridan had the tiniest hope of ever seducing his wife on the couch again, he knew never to mention that it was her loud screams of 'Don't stop,' that woke the bat wielding avenger. No, Sheridan was far too smart to ever go there.

Sheridan, however, fared much better with his brave son. John's pictures of Earth and the Sheridan clan dispelled most of David's fears about his paternal homeworld. There were no ghouls and monsters lurking about in the shadows waiting to kill the innocent, although John was positive this was how Minbari once viewed Humans. Perhaps some still did. But to his relief, David asked many questions and showed a keen interest in his Human family and their farm. And it was decided the entire family would visit Earth during Minbar's equivalent of spring break.

And just when John thought he had fatherhood all figured out, he and Delenn were summoned to David's school. Neither knew the reason behind the request, only that his primary grade teacher wanted to speak with them. Her clipped tone and refusal to discuss the matter over the telecommunications unit, instead of face-to-face, did nothing but annoy and worry Delenn.

The classroom was spacious, bright, and utilitarian. The open crystal windows gave the room a crisp chill that was both comfortable and rejuvenating. There were no hard, torturous desks and chairs for a child to be stationed in for eight hours of the day. There were, however, triangular mats and huge, fluffy pillows neatly stored in open bins throughout the room.

It was nothing like John's elementary school experience. On Minbar, the whole child was nurtured and taught during the school day. The child's mental well-being was just as important as his intellectual well-being, for no learning could take place if there was an imbalance within the one. Yet, some things remained the same the world over.

Sheridan grasped his wife's hand as they walked towards the stern, weathered face of Ms. Tulann. It was a calming strategy, for Delenn disliked few people and made great efforts to find something good in all, but Ms. Tulann was . . . well, for lack of a better descriptor, a crone who hadn't been laid since the time of Valen and her thoughts were equally as outdated. She was kind enough to David and knew instruction, but she clearly disapproved of their marriage and Delenn's transformation. For all of these reasons, and the fact she used to be Delenn's teacher did nothing to lighten his wife's mood or the tension in the room.

"Delenn. Mr. Sheridan," Ms. Tulann said, giving a low bow in greeting.

"I assume there is a good reason why you've called us away from important Alliance business for this meeting. You see me every morning when I bring David to school, could this not have been addressed on one of those occasions?"

Sheridan winced inwardly at Delenn's curt reply to a simple greeting. She truly did not care for the woman and if it wouldn't have been a great insult to Ms. Tulann to remove David from her class, Delenn would've done just that. But she didn't and now they were stuck with each other for the remainder of the school year. And, apparently, Sheridan was stuck between the two women.

"Perhaps," Ms. Tulann said, "but I thought it best to meet when we weren't both so busy, you off to Ranger Headquarters and me with the children and their morning routine. Besides," she noted with a nod of her head, her syrupy sweet voice incongruent with her disapproving glares, "such things are best discussed in private."

Delenn started to retort, but Sheridan silenced her with a gentle squeeze to her hand. "Ms. Tulann," John said, "we're all busy and it would probably be best if you just told us why you called us here today. I can't imagine little David is giving you any trouble. I know he can be energetic and boisterous at times, but overall, he minds his manners and completes all assignments."

"He does at that," the old woman conceded. "He's a smart and kind child in spite of his . . ." She looked away from them then, not finishing her sentence. She didn't have to, they all knew the rest.

Sheridan chanced a look at his wife and her eyes shown a misty gray calm. Shit. She was mad as hell and tittering on the edge. He'd seen her like this a few times and it never ended well for the object of her scorn. To his relief, Delenn said nothing, allowing him to handle Ms. Tulann.

"Look, we're all here and care about David's welfare. Just tell us your concern, so we can discuss it and fix it, if need be."

"Well, David has created a couple of _interesting_ drawings."

"Interesting?" Delenn questioned.

The teacher hesitated first before speaking. "Yes, Delenn, that is one way of describing them."

"What would be another way?" John asked.

"Disturbing, inappropriate," Ms. Tulann answered. "A child shouldn't draw such scenes. In fact, a child David's age shouldn't even know about such facts of life."

Now it was Delenn's turn to tightly grasp her husband's hand and he knew why. He looked at her once more and was right. The anger he'd seen there just a moment ago was now replaced by embarrassment, perhaps even a tinge of fear.

_Disturbing. Inappropriate. _These words echoed in John's mind as he remembered that night. That infamous night on the infamous couch and the sting of a child's toy on his back while he sought his pleasure with the now horrified woman standing beside him, clearly thinking about the same event.

Sheridan thought David had seen very little that night, other than his form over top of his mother. Had he seen more? Had he been in the room longer than they both thought? Had he ventured in when his mother was totally exposed and his father's head between her—

"I couldn't even post them next to the other children's pictures," Ms. Tulann said, striding away from the stricken parents. She searched her desk and removed two white sheets of construction paper.

This was bad, so bad, and they both took two unconscious steps back as Ms. Tulann moved towards them, hand outstretched with the damning pictures. "I know we do things differently here, but this is unacceptable."

"You have to understand, Ms. Tulann," John blurted, "we didn't know he was awake. I had been away for six weeks and well . . . you know how things are when a man returns home after a long trip."

The woman's face contorted into an indestructible line of confusion, her lips pursed together and brow furrowed. "What are you talking about, Mr. Sheridan?" she asked, shoving the pictures into his chest.

John and Delenn looked at the pictures. They examined the creations carefully, looked at each other, and then back at the drawings.

John read the inscription at the bottom of the top picture. "Men get laid, but women get screwed." Over top of the inscription was a man laying on a mat while a woman stood over him with a screwdriver.

John flipped to the second drawing and read that inscription as well. "They call it PMS because Mad Cow Disease was already taken." And under the inscription were cows eating the letters, PMS.

They both laughed. In fact, they howled loudly until Ms. Tulann angrily snatched the drawings from them and snorted her displeasure at their unexpected reactions. "I do not see the humor in this at all. We are not a school for the Worker Caste. If you want David to learn about repairing machines with screwdrivers or tending to animals on a farm, then I suggest you enroll him elsewhere." Her voice was tart and attitude brittle, making the couple laugh even more.

Angry, Ms. Tulann stormed from the room, mumbling something about defective Human DNA.

"That was a close escape," John said, stealing a quick kiss.

"Yes, perhaps late night interludes on the couch isn't the only thing we have to worry about," Delenn said, linking her arm through her husband's and walking towards the door.

"Maybe we should have a talk with Aunt Susan before she pays us another visit about young ears and absorbent minds." They laughed again as they passed Ms. Tulann in the hall.

"He even spelled most of the words correctly and restated the quote exactly," Delenn said proudly, once they had exited the building.

"He does have an amazing memory, Delenn," John said, causing them both to pause then and panic.

"How much do you think he really saw that night, John, that he'll remember?"

"No matter what he saw, honey, he's only six and doesn't know what he saw."

"But he won't always be six, John, and like you said, he has a very good memory."

"Yeah, damn it."

"He used that word that night too," Delenn said, climbing into their transport, the Ranger securing them both before pulling off.

John turned to his wife and smiled sheepishly. "So, bedroom sex only, and no swearing."

Delenn leaned across the seat, kissed her husband's cheek, and said, "Yes, no swearing, but," she kissed his lips, "I believe you can convince me to try again, and I promise to be very, very quiet. Unless," she amended with a sensual grin, "you do that wicked thing with your tongue again, then I make no promises and we'll likely find ourselves before Ms. Tulann again."

They both chuckled, knowing there was no way Delenn would be quiet because there was no way in hell John wasn't going to do that thing with his tongue again. Oh well, the bedroom it was then.


	3. Chapter 3: Eleven Years of Age

**Chapter 3: Eleven Years of Age**

**Part 1**

John Sheridan was running late for his meeting with Earth's religious dignitaries. A group called Faith for All, comprised of representatives from various religious sects from various homeworlds, including Earth, led by Brother Theo and invited by Delenn, were slated to arrive in his office at 7 am to discuss how they could assist the alliance, and it was already ten after. He was late and he hated to be late. Thankfully, Delenn had already left to meet the delegation, leaving him to search for the elusive data crystal.

"David, have you seen my data crystal? I left it here on the table, but it's gone."

The tall, thin child, clad in his all-white school uniform appeared, mouth full of cereal. "Yeah, Dad, I think so."

"You think so? Either you've seen it or you haven't, David. I don't have time for this," his irritable voice came, brittle and impatient as he continued to huff his displeasure at the inconvenience.

"Look in the bowl on the ledge by the fireplace," the boy suggested, returning to the kitchen to finish his bowl of cereal.

Sheridan walked briskly to the crystal bowl and in it discovered five data crystals, all strikingly similar in appearance. "How in the hell . . . David have you been messing with my stuff again?"

The boy reappeared and gave his father a sheepish look. A look Sheridan knew all too well and answered his question.

"I know which one it is," David said instead, moving towards his father. The child rummaged through the crystals and found the one he was looking for. "Here it is," he said triumphantly.

Sheridan examined the tiny, glistening object carefully, and then the face of his son. "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing he should be the one who remembered what the damn thing looked like, considering it was his report.

"Umm, I think so, Dad. Honestly, they kinda all look the same to me, but I think this is the one."

Kinda. Think. Not reassuring words, but Sheridan was pressed for time. He pocketed the item and grimaced when he checked his watch. Seven twenty-two. "Damn it, I'm really late," he swore, and then paused. "Ah, don't tell your mom I said that."

"I never do," David said, reaching into the bowl to retrieve a data crystal. "My class report is on this one. I can't leave it here, if I do, I'll flunk the unit on—''

"Make sure you leave here in the next eight minutes," Sheridan said, cutting his son off. "And wait for Ranger Wilson this time. Your mother will have you at Temple paying penance if you run off again without an escort."

David absently nodded his head and pocketed his own data crystal, waving at his father as he ran around the corner and out the door.

**Part 2**

Sheridan rushed down the hall, made a right, and ran down one flight of steps, leaving a flustered guard struggling to keep pace. Two minutes later, a heavily breathing President of the Interstellar Alliance stood outside his office door. He ran a calming hand through his hair and straightened his suit jacket. He plastered a smile on his face and entered.

Ten smiling faces turned his way. Ten smiling faces wearing black habits. Nuns? He looked around and found his wife situated between Brother Theo and the nuns. This wasn't exactly what he was expecting, and based on Delenn's facial expression, neither was she. But that was for another time. He had kept his guests waiting too long as it was.

"Welcome," Sheridan genuinely smiled, looking at Brother Theo. "It's so nice to see you again, old friend."

"Likewise," the older man said, extending his hand and accepting Sheridan's in an age-old shake and manly pat on the back.

Brother Theo then turned to his colleagues and introduced each sister in turn, explaining the other delegates had been delayed due to mechanical issues on White Star 23.

"I didn't receive the report until a moment ago," Delenn said, holding up a folder. "It's nothing serious, but they had to slow their speed and are unable to safely jump into Minbari space before the repairs are made. If all goes well, they should be here in a few hours. If not, I'll dispatch a recovery crew to their location."

Sheridan released a relieved sigh. She had everything under control. He should've known she would.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "shall we move to the conference room. It's a lot roomier and comfortable in there. Besides, it has the best screen and surround-sound I've ever experienced, and I think you'll really like the report I've compiled.

The nuns quietly nodded their agreement and the group, led by Sheridan, walked two doors down and across the hall into Conference Room 1A.

"Lights," he said and the room illuminated for the group. And, indeed, the room was beautiful, cast in warm shades of blue and green. There were three separate levels of three rows of eleven plush, leather stadium seats creating an arc, leaving the center open for a podium and a small table off to the right.

"Please sit," Sheridan said before moving to the device that played the data crystal. He looked at the advanced technology, realizing he had no clue how to get the audio and video to play.

"What's wrong, John?" Delenn asked in her typical quiet voice.

"I don't know how this damn thing works," he admitted, making sure his voice was suitably low.

"That's what technicians are for," Delenn said, giving John her sweetest smile. The one that said she was holding back a laugh.

"Fine, I'll make nice with the nuns and you can go find one of those nice tech geeks to help out your lug head of a husband."

"Geek? Lug head?" Delenn questioned then shrugged her shoulders. "You really must just speak plainly. Half the time, David and I have no idea what you're talking about."

He narrowed his eyes at her and this time she laughed outright. But she left the conference room in search of a _tech geek_. And seven minutes later, it was done. The Worker Caste technician having come and gone in less than three, making John feel like an out-of-date Earth war cruiser drifting through space on one propulsion.

"All right," John said, clapping his hands together. "I think you'll really like this, ladies. I've taken the time to compile a documentary that highlights the various religious and spiritual beliefs of all members of the Alliance, including Catholics. It clearly shows the vast differences in our most sacred beliefs, but equally as clear, is the underlining theme of family values, love, and forgiveness. All values we can build on as we work together and move this universe forward in a positive direction for all."

The nuns smiled at each other and then at Sheridan with approval. He hadn't totally screwed this up, he thought. This would work.

"Mr. President, Mr. President," came a soft but pleading voice from the doorway. It was his secretary, Mrs. Maniver.

"Can't it wait," he said, not moving. She shook her head.

"It's an emergency. Your son is on the line, Mr. President, and he needs to speak with you right away."

Damn it, Sheridan didn't need this now. And just as things were starting to go his way; a freaking kid emergency in a room of nuns who had no clue about parenthood. And even less clue about an eleven year old son who thought everything in his short-lived life was an emergency.

Nine months ago it was an inflammation on his neck that pulled Sheridan away from trade negotiation between Mars and Earth. David ran into his office, screaming something about bubonic plague and Black Death. He was convinced the swelling on his neck was buboes and he would perish in two to six days if he wasn't treated immediately. Cause was a bee sting at the playground and a mild allergic reaction.

Six months ago the child was convinced a girl in his class had whooping cough and absolutely refused to go to school until she was treated or removed. Apparently, she'd coughed throughout a math lesson, and David had the misfortune of sitting directly in front of her, assured the airborne pathogens had clung to him.

And three months ago it was a rash and a bout of itching or some other nonsense caused by a growing boy who failed to understand the importance of good hygiene. And now what, some other medically induced paranoia brought about by a health class with a curriculum John Sheridan wanted to burn three times over. He should've known.

Delenn stood and John knew she had seen his distressed features, hers frowning in concern as she made her way towards him.

"What's wrong, John?"

"David."

One name said it all, no explanation required.

"I'll handle it," she said.

"No, honey, I'll handle it. You'll probably do a better job with this presentation that I would anyway. Just stay here, I'll handle whatever crazy disease our son thinks he's contracted this week, and I'll be right back."

Delenn gave him another concerned look but nodded, accepting his plan.

"Just get the film started and I'll be right back," he said, giving her a reassuring peck on the cheek and running out the room, Mrs. Maniver right on his heels.

"Okay, David, this better be good," Sheridan said into the telecommunications unit. I'm in an important meeting and you can't just interrupt me while I'm at work." He paused, thinking. "Why in the hell did that teacher of yours allow you to use your portable phone? Those things are considered contraband at school and are only allowed in emergencies."

"This _is_ an emergency," David finally managed to say before his father let loose with another set of questions.

"It had better," Sheridan replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Elementary school years were so much easier, John thought. They simply listened, nodded, and agreed. But now there was middle school. Minbari didn't actually use that term or even view education by such linear milestones. But Sheridan did and he remembered middle school all too well. He was a pre-pubescent pain in the ass with more questions and mouth than answers and good sense.

"You picked up the wrong data crystal, Dad," David said.

"What?"

"You picked up the—''

"No," John said, a fine grinding of his teeth starting, "I have the data crystal you assured me was mine."

"Actually," the child said, sounding too much like his mother when she'd heard an obvious flaw in someone's reasoning, "I told you I _thought_ it was yours and that they all looked alike to me. I never used the word _assured_."

And if John Sheridan could've reached through the unit and shook his son, he would've done just that. Small blessings, small blessings, he thought.

"Okay," John said, trying for Zen like calm, breathing through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. It wasn't that bad. He would've had to show the documentary a second time when the other half of the delegation arrived anyway. Putting it off a few hours was no big deal. So, what, they were probably sitting through a boring sixth grade report on some god awful disease that attacked the mind of parents, turning them into stark raving lunatics.

"It's all right, David. Give the data crystal to Ranger Wilson and have him bring it to me. I should have it within the hour. I'll manage, it'll be all right," he said, actually feeling himself getting calmer. Perhaps those Buddhist had something after all, he thought, taking another cleansing breath.

"Well," David said, "I hope you haven't shown the report to anyone."

Sheridan didn't like the tone of his son's voice. "What do you mean, David? What's on the data crystal? AIDS? Cancer?

"Herpes."

"Her . . . herp . . . what? What?" Sheridan yelled.

"Our unit is on sexually transmitted diseases and I was assigned herpes for my project. It's quite interesting, actually. Did you know that humans—''

Sheridan ran from his office and back down the hall. He swung the door to the conference room open and his jaw dropped. On the big screen was a table with three columns of information. The first column was labeled condition, the second was description, and the third was a picture, a graphic of the condition listed and described in the first two columns. Herpetic gingivostomatitis, Herpes labialis, Herpes genitalis, Herpetic whitlow, gum, lip, vagina, and finger. Papules and vesicles were on full display, a woman's diseased vagina smiling at the morbidly shocked nuns.

"Oh, God, dear God," John said, fumbling with the remote control. Damn Minbari technology, he couldn't get the thing to shut off. If anything, he made it worst, speeding through more naked diseased pictures of men and women, reminding John of a flipbook in which the still photos "moved." And damn if they didn't look like they were having sex.

And finally, the torture stopped. John turned to see a red-faced Delenn, broken crystal in her hand. He then turned to his guests whose pallor could rival that of any sun starved Minbari. They rose slowly from their chairs, and like perfectly aligned penguins, walked from the room in utter silence. He was going straight to hell for this, John thought.

He opened his mouth to speak but only one word came out. "David."

Again, that one word said it all.


	4. Chapter 4: Thirteen Years of Age

**Chapter 4: Thirteen Years of Age**

**Part 1**

"He turned thirteen two months ago," Delenn said to her husband.

John and Delenn Sheridan had retired to their bedroom for the night after yet another long day. While the Alliance was now out of its infancy, fourteen years, there were always feathers to be smoothed, ambassadors to be coaxed, and deals to be made. It was undoubtedly important work but also very exhausting work. But Alliance business wouldn't keep them awake this night. No, a topic much more personal and long overdue would.

"I know, honey, but I still think he's too young," Sheridan said.

Heavy down pillows propped behind their backs and a warm, blue and white comforter covering the lower half of their bodies, John and Delenn looked like any married couple preparing for bed. But the universe knew differently. It pulsed with anxiety, regret, and fear.

"You said that last year, John, and the year before that. We agreed," Delenn said, twisting in bed to face her husband. His face was ashen, eyes heavy lidded with concern and trepidation. She touched his hand with her much smaller one, finger circling his gold wedding band. "It's time, John, it must be done whether you wish it or not. You can't keep putting it off."

John Sheridan knew that. He'd always known, but David was still but a boy, too young to understand. David wasn't ready to hear the truth. And he wasn't ready to speak the truth. There wasn't a day that passed in which he didn't think it, feel it, could almost touch it. But he managed to keep it at bay, the inevitable clock monster ticking down his time.

At first, Sheridan didn't hear the subtle tick, tick, tick of the clock. And on extremely busy days, it was nearly drowned out by his state of near exhaustion. But it never left, the timepiece deathly accurate, accurately foreboding. Yet as the years went by, the hands moved slowly around the clock, the large hand ticking off each year, the smaller hand following suit, keeping it on schedule. And the once subtle tick, tick, tick started to get louder. And John knew it would only get louder still until it blared in his mind, body, and soul in an uproarious dong, dong, dong.

But he had a few rotations left on that damn clock of his. It wasn't blaring its alarm yet. He still had time, not much, but some. It would be enough, it had to be enough; he would make it enough.

"I'm not ready," John admitted in an agonizing whisper. "I'm not ready to do that to my boy. I'm not ready to break his heart, destroy his spirit. I can't do that to him, Delenn, I just can't."

Delenn's grip on Sheridan's hand tightened, giving what support she could. But it had to be done. They'd had this conversation countless times and there was simply no way to get around the inevitable. It simply had to be done. And John had to be the one to do it. It was his story to tell, his road to travel.

Delenn lovingly kissed John's left temple and pulled his head to her shoulder. He went willingly, a boat adrift, the lighthouse its only anchor to reality, its' safe harbor in an otherwise turbulent storm.

"I'm not ready for it either, John, and if we're honest, we never will. The sooner David knows the truth, the sooner we can start helping him deal with what is to come. This way, John, you still have a few more years with him and his knowledge will free you."

"Free me?" John hadn't thought about it in that way. "How?"

"You've been carrying this around with you for thirteen years like a medicine ball. You're so afraid of David learning the truth, that you've developed a guilt complex. You've done nothing wrong, but you act as if you have." Delenn smoothed his hair, Sheridan's head pillowed in the crook of her neck.

"David has a right to know and, believe it or not, John, you need to speak the words. There's power in the spoken word, it frees us, and holds us accountable, purges our soul of truths that need to be said and truths that need to be heard."

"The truth will hurt him," John said, raising his head from his wife's strong shoulders. "The truth will only bring him pain." His voice cracked. And that was a truth Sheridan couldn't ignore, for it had brought Delenn pain. Hell, they barely talked about it themselves. In fact, they avoided the topic. Painful, it was too damn painful. And now he had to share that sorrow with his only child, his son, his heart.

"It will," Delenn conceded. "That cannot be helped, but we're a family, we'll get through this together. Besides," she said, "that truth will determine what type of relationship you have with him from here on out and the memories of you he will carry with him once you've gone where no shadows fall."

Delenn faltered here, her voice and eyes dropping for a long second. John knew she was being brave for him. Her words were direct and what needed to be said, but it was killing her inside. Their little family would never be the same once the full truth was revealed. What John didn't know, however, was how it would change. And that frightened him to his very military core.

"If you wait until he's fifteen or even sixteen," Delenn said, squaring her shoulders and soldiering on, "he'll feel cheated, rushed."

"What do you mean?"

"We often live our lives, John, as if we have an innumerable amount of time. People, regardless of the species, often take their lives and the people they love for granted. We foolishly assume a sense of ennui that just doesn't exist when one understands that a life is nothing more than a fragile flicker of a flame."

"You're right. That's exactly what Anna and I did. We put our work, our careers ahead of everything else, thinking we would have time, that the world would wait for us. But the universe waits for no one," John said somberly.

"No it doesn't. We must claim life vigorously and purposefully, taking and giving all that we are before our flame dims. I don't want our son feeling as if he's wasted time with you because he didn't know he wouldn't always have you. I did that with my father, Dukhat . . . even Lennier. It was a mistake each time, ones I still regret. But," she said, reaching for his cheek and gently caressing, "I savor every moment I still have with you, John. When our twenty years are no more and I lay in this bed alone, I don't want to have any regrets. I want nothing but memories of a marriage well spent, a husband well loved, and opportunities never missed. That will bring me solace, John. And we owe the same solace, the same peace of mind to David. He deserves that much, John, and we can deny him no longer."

She was right. Of course, Delenn was right. Sheridan could think of very few times in which his wife wasn't correct. It would have to be done. If he wasn't strong enough then how did he expect his son to be? Then again, they didn't all have to be strong, they only needed to accept the inevitable and love each other as fiercely as they always have. They were a tough little family. They could survive this, Sheridan assured himself, resigned to the task.

"I'll tell him tomorrow," John said. "It'll be Saturday and we're supposed to watch a baseball game together. I'll speak with him after the game. Why spoil it for him," John said, giving Delenn a weak smile and shrug of his shoulders.

Under the circumstances, it was the best he could manage.

**Part 2**

John Sheridan saw very little of the baseball game beamed in via satellite. Too much on his mind and not enough sleep could be blamed for his preoccupied mind. But his son, David, didn't seem to notice, too caught up in the action of the opportunity to watch his favorite Human sport.

"Run, run, run!" David yelled, jumping to his feet and cheering the Yankee slugger on. "Run, run, run, that's it, head down, now move your ass," the boy swore, the way his father had taught him. Well, John didn't actually teach his son to swear, per se, but one could hardly miss such language when he was upset or even excited. And baseball made John very excited, especially when his favorite team was winning, like they were now. Earth Yankees three, Mars Mets two.

John's normal retort would've been, "Watch your mouth, David," or "Not so loud, David, or your mother will hear you and you'll get us _both_ into trouble." But this wasn't one of their normal father-son times, at least not for Sheridan.

"You're awfully quiet, Dad," David said, plopping back down on the sofa, long legs clad in blue jeans, a birthday gift from Uncle Michael, bare feet exposed, imprinted in the spotless, white carpet.

David Sheridan was now as tall as his mother and growing like the proverbial weed. He would eventually be as tall as his father and grandfather, both over six feet and lean. His hair, however, was dark like his mother, cut short on the sides and back where it met bonecrest. His face, normally plastered with a good-humored smile was now set in a worried frown.

"What's wrong? You've been moody all day. Did you and Mom have a fight or something?" David asked. He thought about it for a second, and then said, "No, not a fight, probably a problem with the Alliance. Did one of those ambassadors say or do something to upset you?"

There was no response from John, just a blank, hollow look, so David continued. "Did _I_ do something?" he asked, paranoia taking hold of his teenage brain. "I swear it was Tuleer who drew that picture of Mr. Jacklon, and posted it on Templebook. I had nothing to do with it. Sure, it was my account and most of the kids at school are all friends on Templebook, but how was I to know it would get around and Mr. Jacklon would find out? Besides," David said, sounding more annoyed than apologetic, "Religious Caste instructors have no sense of humor at all, Dad. You know, donkeys are very strong and useful animals. I have no idea why he would be so insulted with a drawing that depicted him as one."

It took Sheridan a minute to register the contents of the one-sided conversation before his mind snapped back to this plane. "Wait. Tuleer drew a picture of your foreign language teacher as a donkey and you helped him post it on a site for all the kids at your school to see?" John asked, voice accusatory, dad senses back to normal.

"_Wellll_," he drew out, "I hit a wrong button or two and forwarded it to all my friends," David said with the realization that he'd foolishly opened a door his father wasn't already behind. "It was an accident," David reassured, face bright red, sweaty hands borne of anxiety, holding on to a light beige throw cover for dear life.

"You and Taleer basically called one of your teachers a jackass. Mr. Jacklon, a jackass of a foreign language teacher." His voice was pitched very high, as was his eyebrows.

"So, you _did_ see the drawing," David said, quickly sliding to the other side of the sofa, putting some distance between himself and the sleeping giant he'd just awakened.

John bolted upright and gave his son a death glare. "You two actually wrote that on the picture? You actually . . ." John couldn't continue. This was typical David Sheridan behavior. So much so, he almost laughed. The sweet, innocent face, staring warily at him, with the smooth, delicate voice just beginning to deepen with the onset of puberty, was a cunning child with a devilish mind. His intention was never to hurt or harm. He wasn't a malicious or spiteful person, he was just, John reminded himself, a teenager.

_Damn, was I like that when I was thirteen? Hell, I wonder if Delenn was ever this deceptively wicked as a kid. Probably. I wouldn't put it past her with those sweet emerald eyes, beguiling smile, and innocuously tiny frame. She probably got away with murder, while I, on the other hand, had my ass handed to me on more than one occasion care of dear ole Dad. _

"We didn't get into any trouble," David readily supplied. "He didn't even know it was us. I don't think he knows who did it but that's old news, Dad. Tell me what's up with you," David said, trying to shift the conversation and pull his hand away from the fire.

Sheridan simmered, figuring it would do him little good to blow his top. There was a more important topic for them to discuss. Besides, John reasoned, once he told Delenn what happened, she would handle it in such a way that David would never ever engage in such a disrespectful act again. She definitely had a way with him. And for that, John was immeasurably pleased. David would need his mother in the years to come, as she would need her son.

"There's something important I need to speak with you about, David," John said without preamble. "Your mother and I have talked about it for a good long time and we believe you're now old enough to handle the truth."

David shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, sitting up straight, green eyes heavily fixed on his father. His father had taken on a serious tone, the one David only heard him use during Alliance business. He'd never taken that tone with him. It was strong and forceful, but something else as well. And it was this something else in his father's voice that frightened the boy. He knew immediately, whatever truth his father had to reveal, he didn't want to hear it. Ever.

**Part 3**

_Damn, he looks like he's about to wet his pants and I haven't even told him yet. He knows it's bad. Shit. Poison pill, John, it's like taking a poison pill. Just do it and get it over with before you lose your nerve._

Sheridan got up and closed the distance between himself and his son. Sitting down on the sofa, John angled his body so he was facing the nervous teen.

"I'm not going to like this, am I, Dad?"

A solemn, "No," and a shake of the head was his answer.

"Does it have anything to do with Mom?" David asked.

"No." Another whispered response.

"You?" The question was but a muffle, a silent cry of realization.

"Yes. It's about me, son," John replied.

And then there was silence. It floated in the air like a balloon, drifting on wind currents, waiting to hit the inevitable obstruction and be destroyed with a familiar pop.

Sheridan watched his son, his body tense, eyes already flooded with tears and it practically undid him. But there was no turning back now. Pandora's box had already been propped on the table, now it simply had to be opened and its ghastly contents displayed. But all didn't have to be told. Not tonight, John reasoned. Just the bare facts would do, the rest could wait. What did it matter anyhow, the what, who, how, and why. The bottom line was all that needed to heard, all that needed to be shared.

"I'm dying, David," John said. "I only have a few years left to live, and then I have to leave you and your mother. I wish it was otherwise, but life doesn't always grant us our wishes. Although," John acknowledged, "it has granted me a beautiful and loving wife and a brilliant and brave son."

And then the dam burst. It started with one sob, then two, a third, and then a tidal wave of tears. David's body shivered and shook, his entire body jerking wildly out-of-control. John quickly grabbed his son in a fierce whole body embrace, pulling the boy onto his lap as if he was nothing more than a two-year old toddler who'd just fallen and skinned his knee.

David continued to shake and screech his pain, soaking his face and John's shirt with his tears. Sheridan had never heard another human being wail so, the grief bone deep. And it hurt like hell that the sound was coming from his own son. Then his own resolve shattered and he too cried uncontrollably, hugging David as tight as he could to his chest.

He stroked his son's bonecrest soothingly, while laboring under his own grief. David's lean arms wrapped around his neck, the boy's breath ragged against Sheridan's neck.

How much time had passed, neither of them knew. But by the time the tears had ceased and breathing evened out, the Sheridan men felt like two big babies, embarrassed at their breakdown; yet, knowing it wouldn't be the last time.

David had retaken his seat next to his father on the couch, John's handkerchief snuggly in his hand.

"It isn't fair," David finally managed to say.

"I know, but . . . You're right, David, life isn't fair and sometimes it just downright stinks. But know this, son," John said, taking David's hand into his own, "my love for your mother is the only reason I'm here today. Her love granted me twenty years, gave me the will to live, gave us a chance to have a family, and have you. Life can be unfair, David, but I could have had nothing and for that I will always be eternally grateful to the universe."

Sheridan knew his son didn't understand most of what he said, but he would. There would be more talks, further explanations, and even more tears. But the first hurdle had been cleared and they both were still standing. A little winded and dizzy, but still standing.

"It's not fair," David mumbled again, tears beginning their descent. "It's not fair, not fair." And the tears began again in earnest, but this time there was no violent shaking, John noticed. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

John hugged David to him once more, telling him how proud he was to be his father, how much happiness he'd brought to his life, and how he'd always be with him in his heart.

"I love you, David. You are my star and your mother my moon. You two own my heart, my spirit, my soul. We are three, but we are also one. Don't ever forget that, son. You are my one, the one."

"I love you too, Dad. I don't want to lose you. Not now, I'm not ready."

"No, not now, David. We still have some time yet. Not now, son, thank God, not now."

_But soon_, his inner clock whispered. Tick, tick, tick.


	5. Chapter 5: Fifteen Years of Age

**Chapter 5: Fifteen Years of Age**

**Part 1**

John Sheridan ducked, rolled to his right, and jumped up just in time to marginally avoid a low kick to the groin with an axe block. Or was it to his lower thigh? It really didn't matter to Sheridan, for any kick that low would be damnably painful, putting him out of commission for at least a week—either walking or sex. Neither of which he was willing to forego.

"Damn it, David," Sheridan said with winded force, his heavy breathing taking some of the power from his words, "you almost destroyed my last chance to have a kid who won't try to off me under the guise of a friendly workout."

"Workout?" David huffed, grinning across the ring at his father with all the arrogance of a young, strong male with his entire life ahead of him. "We're supposed to be training, Dad, not rolling around on the ground like an old, overweight gokk."

At that, not so veiled insult, Sheridan lunged at his son, taking him unawares and flipping him, not so gently, over his shoulder and flat on his ass.

"Now who's the gokk?" Sheridan asked, glaring down at his son, his ego suddenly restored. "I'm not so old, son, that I don't still have a few good moves left under my belt."

David shrugged, accepting his father's offered hand. David Sheridan stood, his height only five inches shorter than his father, his build thin and wiry, his hair a dark brown, and his crest strongly pronounced atop his head like a prince's crown. And his smile and devilishly twinkling eyes were all his mother's.

"I never said you were _old_, Dad," David corrected with a deceptive grin. "That was all part of my strategy."

"Yeah, what kind of strategy?" John asked, not fooled.

". . . the strategy of diversion, of course, Mr. President. I insulted you, made you mad, thus taking your mind off the battle at hand."

"You did that indeed, but you were the one who found himself on the ground, not the other way around."

"Yeah, well, I never said it was a full proof plan. It's still in the working the kinks out phase," David said, wiping his sweat glistened face with the bottom of his shirt.

"By the way," he said, after dropping the now stained shirt back into place, "you may not be too old to fight, but you're definitely too old to be making more babies." He physically shuddered at the thought. "That's disgusting, by the way," David said, the frown on his face showing his level of distaste. "I don't even want to think about you and Mom in that way. It's bad enough you have to hold her hand everywhere you go and kiss right in front of me like I'm invisible. And don't think I don't know about those rituals you two perform when you think I'm asleep." He shuddered again, adding a roll of the eyes, and a "Yuck."

Sheridan laughed, envisioning the little ritual he had planned for them tonight. Yeah, marriage rituals were better than mating rituals any day, John mused. At least with marriage rituals, he could do more than pray, fondle, and sleep. Although, the Shan' Fal, John amended, was a lot better than he'd initially thought. And once they got past all the prayers and Delenn undressed them both . . .

"You're thinking about sex now," David accused, his thin index finger pointing at his father. "That's the same look you get on your face whenever you ask Mom to help you with Alliance paperwork. Oh, and coincidentally, the paperwork is always in the bedroom and I'm not to disturb you under any circumstances unless the house is on fire."

Sheridan's face blossomed into a brilliant shade of crimson and his face melted into embarrassment then laugher.

"Yeah, well I wondered how long that trick would work." He shrugged. "We had a good run. And," John said, lifting a towel to his face, "we have a mountain of paperwork to get through tonight and—''

David leapt, tackling his towel covered face father. Sheridan hit the mat with a thud, his son atop him, sharp fingers digging into his side like ticklish fangs. Sheridan howled and bucked, but those fanged fingers kept coming, David assaulting every known ticklish spot on his body—left thigh, both sides, lower right back, and neck, either side.

"No more sex rituals. No more midnight candle lighting ceremonies. No more sleep-in Saturdays or long lunch Thursdays. No more two-hour strolls around the grounds or christening of new White Stars."

Each 'no more' was punctuated by accurately placed fingers, David straddling his father, his legs wrapped around John's, the full weight of his frame on that of his dad's.

"Submit," David said with the smile of a conquistador, "or I'll use my teeth next on those love handles of yours."

"No mas, no mas," John said, laughing. "No more, I surrender, I surrender."

David gave his father a skeptical look, for John Sheridan never surrendered so easily, or ever for that matter. David sat up just an inch or two to get a better look at his father, spelling his own defeat.

Sheridan grabbed his son by his wet shirt, pulled it over his head, tossed him onto his back, and raspberried his exposed belly. Sheridan's wet mouth found his son's stomach and he blew, spewing air and saliva all over the place, sending his son into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. And then Sheridan collapsed beside his son, exhausted, chest heaving from the exertion.

David pulled down his shirt and simply lay beside his father, his breath perfectly normal as if he'd been doing nothing more strenuous than playing a video game.

After several minutes of companionable silence, David turned to his side and lifted his head to his left hand, and gave his father a questioning look. Without opening his eyes, Sheridan said, "What's on your mind, sport?"

"I was just thinking about something you said earlier . . . about having another kid."

"I was just joking, you know that." Sheridan opened his eyes. "For all my talk about not being old, I'm pretty sure I'm past the reproduction stage."

"No, I know, but I was just wondering. Well, I was wondering why you and Mom never had more kids after me."

Sheridan was taken aback by this question, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. David had always wanted a sister or brother and used to talk about it constantly when he was much younger. But once David started attending school and realized that most families either had one child or no children at all, the questions reduced and eventually ceased. Until now that is.

Sheridan raised himself up on his right side, his position mirroring that of his son's.

"We would've liked to have had more, David, but the universe only seemed fit to grant us with one. And what a one you turned out to be, son."

"So, I'm enough?"

"Of course you're enough, David. Why would you think otherwise?"

"I don't really. I was just wondering. I guess I should be counting my blessings instead of complaining," he said, returning to his back and looking up at the skylight, the midmorning sun capturing him in its rays.

"I used to pray for a baby brother every time Mom took me to temple."

So did Delenn, John thought. But she would've taken a boy or a girl. And so would he. 'Our son is safe,' Delenn once told him long ago when he was unstuck in time aboard Babylon 4. They were both being held prisoners on Centauri Prime and she was thrown into his cell, the cell of a man whom she believed to be her husband, the father of her son. John and the Delenn from his time hadn't even kissed yet, but the future Delenn kissed him. She kissed him with passion, fear, and relief. And for a selfish, confused second, he responded, taking in her sweet warmth and eager lips. The lips he'd been dreaming about for far too long.

'Our son is safe,' she had said, not our children are safe but our _son_. Sheridan didn't know what to make of it then and now as that day looms before him, he can, at least, find comfort in her old and future words.

But those words meant little to him years ago when they hoped and prayed that lightning would strike twice for them. Yet it never did, the words of his future wife proclaiming the safety of only one child, a son, a sign he refused to see.

"But Minbari souls aren't being reborn into more Minbari but are going elsewhere. We are a dying people," David said, turning to look at his father. "I learned that in school. That's when I stopped praying for a brother. If Mom had stayed a pure Minbari, I wouldn't exist. Humans and Minbari can mate but their physiologies are too different to reproduce. I learned that in school too."

Sheridan brought up a vision of his son as a baby, his downy brown hair sleek against his head, green eyes bright and inquisitive. He reached for his son's hand and took hold of it, squeezing with tenderness. "You're enough, David. Having you has always been enough for us."

"Will I be enough for Mom when you . . . when you . . ."

Sheridan gripped his son's hand harder, the gentleness gone, replaced by dread, sadness.

"Like I said, sport, you've always been enough for us. And you always will," John said, his voice low, throat tight.

Silence settled into the brightly lit room and the Sheridan men absorbed it, filling their hearts and minds with it, an agreement birthed within to accept and not question.

Ten minutes went by and it was the younger Sheridan who spoke first. "I would like to go the academy."

Sheridan swiftly sat up and David followed. Sheridan wasn't surprised by his son's statement but he wasn't ready for it either. "Aw hell, David," John said, running a hand through his tousled graying hair.

"I would like for you to speak to Mom about me joining the academy when I turn sixteen."

"Aw hell, David," Sheridan exclaimed again, his eyes closing, the hand in his hair tightening with anxiety.

"She'll listen to you, Dad. Please," the teen pleaded, his face bright with hope.

"Don't give me those puppy dog eyes, sport. Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?"

". . . to help your favorite and most loving son," David responded sweetly, those eyes of his growing wider and even more adorable.

"You don't fight fair. Hell, neither does your mother."

"You taught me to always go after what I want with all the power in my arsenal. Well," David shrugged, "when it comes to Mom, I have no arsenal except you. She won't listen to me. I've been hinting at it for months and she simply nods, smiles, and ignores me."

"She's a diplomat, son, that's what they all do," Sheridan said, stretching his long legs in front of him and leaning back on his hands. "And when it comes to your mother, no hinting is required."

"Exactly, she knows that I want to go but she won't even allow me to broach the subject with her. She totally shuts down on me. Have you seen what she can do with her eyes?" David said, whispering and giving a quick look around as if his mother would suddenly appear. "She's one scary lady when she wants to be, Dad. And don't even get me started on her freaky calm voice. That's the worse. Mom could destroy a small planet with her eyes and voice alone."

Sheridan couldn't help but chuckle at his son's analysis of his mother, for he too had been on the receiving end of one of Delenn's fierce looks and it damned near turned him to stone. And yes, her Satai voice was even worse.

"And you want me to go into the lioness' den?"

"Yes."

"And I thought you loved me."

"Come on, Dad, stop playing, this is serious. Sure, we receive combat training in temple but it's not nearly enough, not nearly as extensive as that of the warrior caste. I really want to do this and I can't unless the Entil'zha gives her permission. Hell, none of the Rangers will even show me how to use a denn'bok without her approval."

"That's because they're afraid of her too." John laughed at his son's exasperated look.

"I'm not cut out for the Temple, Dad. Don't get me wrong, I love going to school there and I will always adhere to their teachings, but I'm no priest. I don't have a priest's heart. I have a—''

"Warrior's heart," John finished. "Yes, I know son. I guess I've always known this would be the path you chose."

"So you do understand. I knew you would. Mom would too if . . ."

If you weren't dying. If I wasn't the only child. If she wasn't so desperately afraid of losing everyone she loves.

They were back where they had started. Silence rained down upon them, showers becoming more frequent, harder to forecast and prepare for.

**Part 2**

"Absolutely not, John," Delenn said, with a vehement shake of her head.

The kitchen wasn't the ideal location for such a conversation, but David was in his room doing homework and the Sheridans had ended their day early for a change. Delenn was preparing their dinner, having dismissed the housekeeper for the day to tend to her sick husband.

"Why not?"

"He'll get hurt, he's too young, he's not ready," she ran off in quick succession. "Take your pick, John."

Her back was to him but he knew she was frowning. Hell, he could detect the frown in the words that virtually slapped him in the face.

"He's your son."

"Of course he's my son, John."

"No, Delenn, that's the only reason you didn't state. And the only one that truly matters to you. He's _your_ son, your _only _child, _our_ child."

She turned to him then, her red and green robes making a gently swishing sound as she whirled on him. And she was frowning, deep and unforgiving, eyes blazing with anger, shielding her pain, her fear.

"Is it so wrong for a mother to want to keep her child safe, John?" she asked and took a menacing step toward him. And Sheridan took three steps back. "Would you prefer I gave him a PPG and denn'bok and loaded him on a White Star off to hell unknown?"

Rhetorical question? Hell, he didn't know. Delenn was slow to anger but once she was . . .

"Aw hell, Delenn, you know that's not what I'm saying. David will turn sixteen next month and he'll be of age to join the junior academy. You know as well as I do that simply going through the junior ranger academy doesn't mean one automatically moves on to join the Anla-shok. It's simply a forum to give prospective candidates a chance to figure out if that is the calling of their heart."

"You don't need to lecture me, John, I was the one who created the junior academy as means of early recruitment." Delenn said, moving around him and walking down the hall and into the living room, her smooth, graceful glides belying her agitated state. Sheridan swiftly followed, unwilling to allow Delenn to run away from the issue.

They entered the room within seconds of each other, John taking a seat on the couch. He expected his wife to sit beside him; instead, Delenn sank into her favorite reading chair. John huffed, for he knew what that meant. She was pissed at him, her physical distance a passive aggressive response to his support for an idea she disagreed with.

"He's not a boy any longer, honey. We have to stop treating him like one." The _we_ was a concession on Sheridan's part that could've easily been replaced with _you_. But that would've been going too far and the minor distance she was exhibiting now would be nothing to what he would experience later tonight. Yeah, sex was still top on John's list of fun things to do, preferably with his wife and not an arthritic hand and a late night vid.

"I'm not treating him like a child. I simply think he's too young to make such a life altering decision. He has many options from which to select."

"He doesn't want to go into priesthood, Delenn, or even politics. He says he has a warrior's heart, a warrior's soul. And I believe him. I can feel it. Hell, I guess I've always been able to feel it."

Delenn pulled her legs into the chair, holding them to her chest, clearly considering her husband's words.

"I'm afraid for him, John. I don't want David to get hurt," she admitted. "Perhaps I am a bit overprotective, but I think I have every right to be."

Progress.

"I'm afraid as well, honey, and if I thought I could talk him out of it I would. But that's simply not going to happen. I tried that yesterday. He's determined and stubborn as hell." He gave his wife a knowing look and said with a smile, "I wonder where he gets that from."

Delenn squinted her eyes at her husband and arched her brow disapprovingly, the amusement lost on her. "I'm not in the mood for your little jokes, John," she chided. "I've had a long, annoying day, made worse by the fact that my husband and son have apparently joined forces to conquer a mere Minbari woman."

' "A mere Minbari woman,"' John repeated, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. "My God, Delenn, there is nothing _mere_ about you.

He rose, laughter still simmering in his eyes and walked to his wife. He leaned down, Delenn's eyes a fathomless green, holding his own with intensity. "Do you agree, honey? It would mean the world to David. It's what he wants."

"What about what I want, John? Does that not matter to either one of you?"

"It does, of course, it does. But that's not Delenn of Mir or Entil'zha speaking but David's mother."

"I'm all those things, John, and I can't so easily separate the three because the two of you would so wish it."

"I know, but at least think about it. Don't just dismiss it out of hand."

Sheridan pressed his lips to Delenn's, grazing, teasing.

"I'll think about it, but I make no promises. But I will give it considerable thought. You have my word."

"That's all that I ask," John said, placing his right hand on the nape of Delenn's neck and pulling her in for a more thorough kiss.

"Oh, for the love of Valen," David cried as he entered the living area, taking in the scene before him. "I swear if you both were Human, I would have a million brothers and sisters. Perhaps I should be happy that Minbari and Humans don't exactly play nicely in the uterus."

"David!" Delenn said, her voice deep with shock and censure.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, Mom."

Sheridan straightened, musing on the fact that after fifteen, almost sixteen years, he still couldn't kiss his wife without first checking for little David. Well, John thought, at least he and Delenn were still clothed and David wasn't wielding a plastic bat. Although, as John turned to look at his intrusive son, the boy did have something in his hand.

"I know the two of you are probably talking about me joining the junior academy," David started. "and I just wanted to assure you, Mom, that I'm serious about becoming Anla-shok. Dad and I have been training and I've been practicing with this." David lifted the closed denn'bok, struggled with it for a second before it sprung forth from both ends.

Before either could protest, David began twirling the weapon around, above his head, through his raised legs, over his shoulder.

"That's not a toy," Delenn snapped, jumping to her feet. "I've told you it takes great skill, respect, and concentration to wield a denn'bok."

"I know, Mom, but check this out," David said, his face flushed with eager excitement to prove his worth. He twirled the weapon again, around his neck, over his head, and then a forward lunge.

"Duck," Sheridan yelled to Delenn right when the weapon became a projectile and went sailing over her head and behind her, landing in front of the fireplace.

While Delenn's head was still intact, a crackling thud was heard a second before the denn'bok found its resting place.

"I swear, David, I'm gonna—'' Sheridan said, face red with anger, moving towards his wife to help her to her feet.

"Ah, not a problem guys, just slippery fingers," David quickly interjected. "I'll clean it up, don't worry, I got this, Mom . . . Dad."

David rushed to the fireplace and looked down. "Oh, nothing to worry about, guys, just the old silver urn I'm supposed to open next month. I never liked the thing anyway; it kinda freaks me out," he said, leaning over to inspect the shards from the urn.

Something caught his eye and he immediately backed up. "What in the hell is that?"

"Watch your language," Sheridan said, still smarting over the near fatal accident and his son's nonchalant attitude over almost having killed or seriously injured his mother.

"Sorry, Dad but . . ." David jumped back, moving away from the fireplace and towards his father.

"What's wrong, son?" Sheridan asked, his eyes following that of his son's.

"I don't know, but there's something crawling on the floor; something small and damn ugly."

"I don't see anything," Delenn said, also surveying the floor.

"Well, I know I saw it and it didn't look like anything I've ever seen before."

A long tentacle was all Sheridan saw emerging from under the sofa before the unwelcome guest hurled itself at David. The creature was heading straight for his son's face and with a quickness John pulled from deep within, he tackled David to the ground, narrowly avoiding the creature. Both Sheridan men quickly got to their feet, braced for another attack, but none came. The creature had disappeared.

"Oh, Valen," David breathed, his heart pounding, eyes glossed over with fear, hand clutching that of his father.

"Did you see where it went, Delenn?" John asked his wife.

"No," she replied, "but I'm sure it hasn't gone far. If it was simply an animal caged in that urn for all these years, it would've died a long time ago. If it was the type of creature that could sustain its life force for almost two decades without food or water, yet sought its freedom, it would have done so once the urn broke. No, I think it is safe to assume that the creature was waiting to be freed so it could . . . so it could . . ."

They both looked at David and Sheridan remembered a dinner many, many years ago.

"You haven't asked me about my gift," Emperor Mollari said to Delenn.

"What gift?" Delenn and John asked in unison, surprised that Londo was even on Minbar and apparently bearing gifts as well.

"I brought this for your child. It is a Centauri tradition . . . to give this to the heir of the throne . . . when he or she comes of age. It's very old."

Londo pushed the gift to Sheridan who then picked it up for a cursory inspection, admiring the craftsmanship.

"Well, it's beautiful . . ." Delenn started, "but we can't possibly accept. We . . ."

"I insist. Besides, I have no heirs. When I am gone . . . I suspect the Centaurum will do all they can . . . to eliminate the position of emperor. If I'm going to be obsolete and that is going to be obsolete . . . then I should do all that I can to make sure it ends up where it will be appreciated."

Feeling uncomfortable but hesitant to insult the leader of a sovereign republic and perhaps even friend, Sheridan accepted. "Well, since I can't talk you out of this . . . thank you. When do I . . .?"

"When your child . . . male or female, turns sixteen years . . . then you hand it over," Londo said with a pleased smile.

_A present for my son or daughter, huh, Londo, _Sheridan thought, his mind turning to murder at the prospect of the emperor's true intention that day so many years ago.

But Sheridan had little time to contemplate the assassination of the former Centauri ambassador, for his son was screaming and desperately trying to free himself of something.

David was squirming about, his left leg jerking and kicking wildly. "Get this damn thing off me," he wailed, the creature's tentacles trying to get a foothold, the boy's denim pants making it difficult.

John grabbed a light from a side table, plucked the shade off, turned it around, and jabbed at the gray, one-eyed creature. He jabbed and jabbed, sliding the sharp crystal base between David's ankle and the one tentacle that had managed to loop around the boy, forcing it to retreat.

It scurried away once again, the Sheridan's trying to track its rapid movements, the furniture in the living room serving as a source of protection for the tiny hunter. And it was definitely hunting, Sheridan surmised, hunting David Sheridan.

"I'm getting, David, out of here," Sheridan said, hauling his son by the arm, making a move to the other side of the living room.

And the creature was suddenly on the wall, hanging there like a spider, waiting for its prey to walk by before it pounced, its tentacles poised to sink into the young man's flesh and become one with his nervous system, controlling him. That was the keeper's job, to control its host, the Drakh who created it, its' only master.

Sheridan approached the wall that led out of the living room, David on the side nearest the wall, the keeper's eye intent on its prey, the one it patiently waited for, crammed inside an urn before the child was even born. Delenn was wrong. The keeper did want its freedom, but its freedom came with the denial of the freedom of another.

Blindly, David and John approached the wall of danger, David's shoulder two feet away, it jumped, and simultaneously a thud ricocheted throughout the room. Both Sheridan men turned to their left to see a deen'bok sticking out of the wall, the creature impaled on one end like a grotesque picture hanging in a sociopath's basement.

And at the other end of the denn'bok was Delenn, her face an eerie calm, her slim fingers wrapped firmly around the weapon. After a few more hard stares at the keeper, Delenn released the weapon, reducing it to its non-lethal size, the creature dropping to the floor in a bloody heap.

Delenn then turned her unrelenting gaze on David and her voice was deep, brittle, and resigned to their fate. "You will begin training on the denn'bok one week from today. If you succeed in this mission, there will be an opening for you in the junior academy."

Still reeling from the encounter, David blinked twice at his mother, her words taking a minute to sink in. Yet as they did, a smile arose and he bent to hug his mother.

"Thank you, Mom," he said happily. "You won't regret it, I promise. I'll be the best student Ranger. By the way, which Ranger will be training me?"

Delenn's eyes flicked a ruthless shade of green, and then she gave him that frightening smile John knew all too well. "I will train you, son, and if you pass my training you may move on. If not . . ."

She swept out the room, leaving the statement unfinished.

David turned to his father, confusion gracing his innocent features. The boy laughed unsteadily and said, "I know she's Entil'zha, Dad, but she's just a girl."

Sheridan patted David on his back and simply shook his head, knowing what his son was in for, but also knowing if he could survive his mother, he could survive anything."

"David, my son," he said smiling, "you have a lot to learn and some of it will be painless, but training with your mother won't be one of them.

David gave his father a shocked expression, looked down at the dead creature, and back at his father. "She's going to kick my ass from here to Drazi space, isn't she?"

"Yup . . ." John admitted and then added, "better you than me, sport"

**Author's Note:**

The last part with David Sheridan and the keeper goes against what was written in Peter David's Babylon 5: Legions of Fire, Book 3. In that work, David is held prisoner by the keeper and almost succumbs. He was also the reason why Londo was able to get his hands on Delenn and John; hence, the Babylon 4 flashback in which the older Delenn meets the younger John in a cell and she tells him their son is safe and not to go to Z'ha'dum. Garibaldi and Vir shoot and kill the Drakh who created the keeper, thus killing the keeper and saving David. It was no point rehashing what was already well documented, so I went for an alternative take.


	6. Chapter 6: Eighteen Years of Age

**Chapter 6: Eighteen Years of Age**

**Part 1**

John Sheridan paused wearily at his front door. Instead of taking the transport, he'd walked across the compound from his office to the residential dwelling. It was a bi-weekly routine he began soon after relocating to Minbar. Sometimes it was the only exercise he managed to fit into an all too busy day. The walk always made him feel good, the cardio doing wonders for his heart. Now, it was drudgery, misery. Yet, he persisted, torturing himself at the end of the journey when he opened his front door and the computer program welcomed him home, giving him the time in her sweetest, highly accented Minbari voice.

"Welcome home John Sheridan. It is now twelve thirty and forty-five seconds."

Sheridan sighed. When he'd left his office it was fifteen after eleven. When he'd started this routine it would take him fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. Now, well now he was an old, dying man who took over an hour to walk half a mile.

_Shit, John, this isn't good. Who the hell do you think you're fooling anyway? You're too old and out of shape to maintain the illusion. You're dying and that's it. There's no use fighting the inevitable or hastening the process by overexerting yourself on a devil's trek. Besides, the whole point of coming home early is to rest not lie to yourself._

Once John realized the daily fatigue he felt wasn't from lack of sleep, or vitamin deficiency, he knew. Of course, he'd known for a very long time, but the last seven months brought the reality home. His body was simply slowing and would eventually stop, like Lorien said almost twenty years ago. For Humans, there is knowing, and then there is _knowing_. His body had _known_ all along and now his mind knew it too.

So, John had taken to leaving his office mid-day and going home for a restorative nap. An hour was all he needed to recharge his batteries. The last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep during a meeting or be too tired to make love to his wife. She deserved better, he thought, each time he collapsed on their bed, remembering when he could make love to her until they were both hoarse and drenched. Now, his goal was simply to not embarrass himself and give her as much pleasure as he could before his penis realized how long it'd been standing at attention and decided to go to parade rest, or worse, at ease.

Sheridan shrugged out of Valen's cloak and hung it neatly across the arm of a loveseat. He looked around the open living room, the rays of the mid-day sun shining in through the window wall, brightening the entire room in its Tuzanor warmth. He loved the airy feel of the room, so different from life on Babylon 5 with its dark corridors and false sunrises and sunsets.

Minbar had become as much a home for him as Earth had ever been. Sheridan counted himself fortunate to have found three places to call home—Earth, Babylon 5, and Minbar. What makes a place home isn't the green of the mountains, the blue of the oceans, or the smell of recycled air. No, what makes a place home are the people, the friendships, the laughter, the tears, the love. Yes, John Sheridan counted himself very fortunate indeed.

He sat on the loveseat and bent over to remove his shoes. As he started on his second shoe, he heard a sound. He stilled, listening. Nothing. He shrugged and bent to untie the second shoe. Another sound.

_Dammit. What the hell? No one is supposed to be here._

Sheridan slowly rose from the chair, went to a side table, and retrieved a PPG. He surveyed the weapon, set it to stun, and went in search of the sound.

_If David has rescued another damn animal and hid it in his room, I'm going to have his rebellious hide._

He cautiously made his way down the hall and around the corner. The sound grew louder but he still couldn't make out exactly what it was. He heard a muffled sound, scratching, and what sounded like whining.

_Dammit, David, and your bleeding heart. This house isn't a nature preserve. I didn't come home early just to spend the next hour chasing a ferret or other fury animal around the house, hoping not to lose a finger in the process._

Agitated, Sheridan swung the door to his son's room open. Like the living room, the mid-day sun shone brightly in this room and on the naked couple in the bed. The bed lurched slightly under the movements, scratching the hardwood floor and the whining Sheridan heard . . . well, they would be the happy sounds coming from his son, the girl apparently too enraptured to make any sound.

"Aw hell, Dad," David said, rolling off the girl, and shielding her body with his own. He frantically pulled the discarded covers over their exposed bodies, sweat beading his forehead, but no longer from sexual exertion.

"I can explain, Dad. This isn't what it appears." He paused then amended. "Well, it is, but I can explain." As bad as the situation was, David seemed to think of something far, far worse. "Is Mom with you?" he asked, trying to peer around his father, renewed anxiety coating his youthful features.

Sheridan felt as if he'd just aged ten years. The sight of his son's bare ass going up and down as he took and gave pleasure was an experience he could've happily died without having. But no, David Sheridan could never do anything according to rules. If he wasn't already dying, John knew his son would surely be the death of him.

"Get your ass up and dressed, young man. Escort Miss Lightfoot to the door and have a Ranger take her home and I'll see you in the living room in ten minutes."

Sheridan left the stunned and embarrassed teens alone, slamming the door behind him. He waited for his son in the living room, thinking he should find the whole situation funny. But he didn't. The boy tended to lack discipline and he seemed to take immense pleasure in circumventing established rules, regulations, and customs.

Eleven minutes later, David walked into the living room, his face drawn, hands at his side. He sat on a sofa at the far end of the room.

Sheridan stood and closed the distance between himself and his son, taking the chair to the left of the sofa where his son nervously sat.

"I . . . I . . . didn't think anyone would be home this time of the day."

"You think that makes it better. You think because you plotted to bring Miss Lightfoot here when your mother and I are normally at work, that that makes everything all right."

"No, no," he stammered, "that's not what I meant. I only meant that I would never disrespect this household."

"You have disrespected this household, David, but more importantly, you've disrespected Miss Lightfoot," Sheridan said, rising to his feet.

"I didn't force her."

"Of course you didn't, son, that's not what I meant. Miss Lightfoot is a guest on our planet, David. Her father is the Earth Ambassador, and you've taken privileges with his only daughter. How do you think he'll react if he finds out about today?"

"Politics? Is that all you ever worry about, Dad?"

"This isn't about politics but propriety. You're nearly a man and you have to start acting like one. And that means making better decisions. You're about to officially begin your Ranger training and the last thing your mother needs is to worry about you. She must be able to trust you, David. Do you not understand?"

David leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. "So, this is about more than Emily?"

Sheridan ran a hand though his hair and retook his seat. "David, I was a teenage boy once and I know the power of young hormones and a beautiful girl. But you can't afford to act like a horny Earther. Hell, I guess I should've expected something like this, and perhaps I'm being overly hard. You've done nothing more than what most Earth boys your age do. But this isn't Earth and you're no light in the pants young man. I expected so much more from you. What if your mother had arrived home early instead of me? How do you think she would've reacted? Shit, her honor would've compelled her to make amends to the Ambassador. Can you imagine how embarassing that would've been for the family? Damn, David, you gotta start thinking with the big brain, not the small one."

"But—''

"Do you intend to take Miss Lightfoot as your mate?"

"Mate? Of course not, I'm only eighteen cycles and she nineteen. Besides, I start training in a week's time."

"My point exactly, son. To a Minbari, I guess Human girls are easy conquests. They don't make us go through all the rituals to get to the prize. No, Human girls have different kinds of hoops they make males jump through. But their standards in some matters are far lower than Minbari females."

"I didn't take advantage," David said, his annoyance at the suggestion evident in his rough tone. "In fact, coming here was her suggestion. Hell, everything was her suggestion. I don't know if you know this, Dad, but Human girls think of me of somewhat of a novelty. They want to know what parts of me are Minbari and what parts are Human. To say that about Human girls is a generalization I know, but one based on personal experience."

Sheridan had no idea, but he knew Delenn would understand perfectly. She always did in such matters. To be honest, he'd wondered the very same thing about her when he realized she meant more to him than a good friend and ally. And it wasn't until the Shan'Fal that he knew all of his worrying was for naught. Everything aligned perfectly, but that didn't stop him from feeling like an ass, especially when she told him that even as a full Minbari they would've been compatible enough to have sex. No babies, but definitely sex. Humans just knew so very little about other species, especially Minbaris.

"But Emily's not like that, Dad. She likes me for who I am and understands that our futures aren't with each other. I was her first and she was mine. In the end, when I decide to settle down with a mate, I'll come home and find a Minbari woman as wonderful as the one you found."

He'd been waiting for a time to speak with his son about his future. No time ever seemed right, for either of them. But time was quickly evaporating, his son leaving in only a week. Today wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

Sheridan moved from his chair and sat next to his son, grabbing his hands. "I don't have much time left," he said without preamble.

David winced but nodded his head. They've had this discussion many times before.

"I know it's unfair of me to ask, but I need you to grow up faster, to be the man your mother needs."

David held his father's hand fiercely, the tears starting to form in his eyes. "I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes and act like Mom's put no work into me at all. But I know what must be done. I won't let her down. I won't let _you_ down," he promised, the tears falling onto their joined hands.

In that moment, Sheridan knew he only had one week left with his son and no more. He would be leaving to begin his future, and that future didn't include him. He had to trust that David would be the man he believed him capable of becoming. He had to trust that he would protect Delenn from all things, including herself. She would mourn him, and he prayed she wouldn't try to join him too soon, the way she had when she thought him dead on Z'Ha'Dum. He needed David to be her anchor to this place, her rock, her lighthouse in the rough waters that was to come.

He pulled his son to him, placing his arms around David's shoulders, hugging him tight. "I love you, son, don't you ever forget that. You and your mother are the best things that have ever happened to me. And I will miss you so very much."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. Valen help me, I prayed this day would never come."

And they both wept, holding each other in a familiar embrace, David whispering in John's shoulder a pitiful, futile plea, "Don't go, don't leave me."

**Part 2**

_Today is my first night on Minbar. Our new home. Londo's visit got me thinking about the day my child comes of age. On Earth, that's 21. If Lorien's prediction holds . . . I only have 19 years left. I won't be there to see you . . . come into your own . . . whoever you are . . . whoever you will be . . . Not that either of those things matter. Because sight unseen . . . I know that I will love you . . . because you are my child . . . and the child of the woman that I love more than life itself._

_I will give you that love as best I can . . . for as long as I'm here. But a day like this . . . your 21__st__ birthday . . . requires something more. So . . . I give you . . . what little wisdom I have. _

_Delenn . . . is the greatest ally you will ever have. Her depths of courage and compassion are unmatched in my experience. Look to her . . . for wisdom and fire in equal measure. And if you ever have any doubt . . . talk to her. She will never judge you. She will only love you._

_From time to time . . . you will make mistakes. They're inevitable. Sometimes those mistakes will be . . . huge. What matters is that you learn from them. There's nothing wrong with falling down . . . so long as you end up, two inches taller . . . when you pick yourself up off the floor._

_At times . . . you may end up far away from home. You may not be sure of where you belong any more . . . but home is always there. Because home . . . is not a place. It's wherever your passion takes you. _

_As you continue on your path . . . you will lose some friends and gain new ones. The process is painful . . . but often necessary. They will change . . . and you will change . . . because life is change. From time to time . . . they must find their own way . . . and that way may not be yours. Enjoy them for what they are . . . and remember them for what they were._

_There's not much left. Except . . . I believe . . . I really do believe that sooner or later, no matter what happens . . . things do work out. We have hard times. We suffer. We lose loved ones. The road is never easy. It was never meant to be easy. But in the long run . . . if you stay true to what you believe . . . things do work out. _

_Always be willing to fight for what you believe in. It doesn't matter if a thousand people agree with you or one person agrees with you. It doesn't matter if you stand completely alone. Fight for what you believe._

The sensors told him that he had reached Coriana 6, but he kept his eyes closed, mind fixed on the past.

"I won't see him again, Delenn. I won't ask him to come home at the end. I don't want that to be his last image of me. I refuse to do that to our son. He needs to remember me as strong as I am now."

Delenn nestled her head against his shoulder, pulling the blankets up to cover them both. "I know, John, I know."

He felt the first heat of tears on his chest, the droplets painful. He hated for his wife to cry, and she rarely did so. But when she did, it broke his heart. And the tears she now cried were as much for herself as for him. God, he wished he could spare her, wished he could stay, wished he could wrap her in his arms and say all would be fine. But it wouldn't. Her husband was dying and there was absolutely nothing either one of them could do. Yet . . . He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her slim waist. He could do this for her, for them. His body, his love, his warmth was all he had left to give, and it was hers. All of it.

"I love you, honey."

"I know. I love you as well."

"We still have some time. Not much, Delenn, but some. Let's make the best of it. Please."

She nodded and wiped at her tears. She was a brave soldier, much braver than him. If the situation was reversed, John was convinced he would've broken everything in the house and tore Minbar in two trying to prolong her life. But Delenn had a different spirit, one that wouldn't allow her to drift too far away from her own need for sanity, peace, security. She was brave but not invulnerable and the best person to see her through the pending crisis his death would create in her life had just left on White Star 13.

David, his David. They had raised him together, and now Delenn must finish the rest. He loved them both. Would die for them. His family.

_My family. My heart. My soul. My forever. I'll miss you._

A voice shook Sheridan from his thoughts down memory lane, a voice posing old queries.

"Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here? Where are you going?

He was tired, so very tired, his Sunday drive at its end.

"Did you think we had forgotten you? We have been waiting for you."

Sheridan opened his eyes and beside him stood Lorien.

"Beyond the Rim?" he asked.

"Yes."

"There's . . . still so much I don't understand."

"As it should be."

"Can I come back?"

"No. This journey has ended. Another begins. Time to rest now," Lorien said, his eyes searching Sheridan's.

"I've had a good life, a good run. I'll have my memories and they will sustain me," he said, his form disappearing in the glow of the First One's light.

And all was silent, all was still.

**Author's Note:**

Thanks for sticking with me through this story. Other fics temporarily diverted my attention from this one and it took me a minute to feel the pull of _Raising David_ bubbling inside once more. I hope the inevitable ending was worth the journey. Thanks for your time and support.


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